


Free Fall For Now (For A Second I Thought The World Was Ending)

by GoldenDaydreams



Series: Bless My Darkness (Bless My Light) [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Alive Cole Anderson, Alternate Universe- Angels, Angel!Connor, Angel!Nines, Attraction, Family, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Major Character Injury, Muteness, Pre-Hankcon, Pre-Reed900, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:47:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23843983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldenDaydreams/pseuds/GoldenDaydreams
Summary: Hank gets to have Cole for a weekend while his ex-wife is away at a wedding.It's nice until an angel crash lands in the backyard.
Relationships: Cole Anderson & Hank Anderson, Connor & Upgraded Connor | RK900, Hank Anderson & Connor, Hank Anderson & Gavin Reed, Upgraded Connor | RK900 & Gavin Reed
Series: Bless My Darkness (Bless My Light) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1718170
Comments: 6
Kudos: 67





	Free Fall For Now (For A Second I Thought The World Was Ending)

**Author's Note:**

> This series will be told in one-shots (I pray nothing becomes multi-chaptered.)  
> Relationships are all platonic- with a side of some interest/terror in equal measure-- at this point. There will be Hankcon and Reed900 later in the series, you may find hints leaning here. 
> 
> Title is mix and matched from the song Gold-EDEN.  
> Series title from Stomach It- Crywolf ft. EDEN.  
> No, that wasn't planned. And naming things is hell and probably took me longer than writing this damn story.

It was a well known fact that Hank Anderson hated angels. He saw one, the night of the accident, just there out of the corner of his vision, but the feathery fuck didn’t help, not Hank, and more bothersome, the angel didn’t aid his five year old son in the backseat. They were both lucky to survive. Cole lost both legs in the accident, but had adapted to his prosthetics over the past three years. 

Despite that hatred, Hank stood in the morgue staring at the unprecedented corpse of a murdered angel, with his stomach twisted in sorrow of a life lost. The wings were laid out over two other metal tables, and nearly made it impossible to move around the room. The gruesome hole through the angel’s chest nearly made Hank lose his breakfast. 

“I can’t believe you called me in for this,” Hank finally said. 

Jeffrey planted his hands on his hips. “I have no fucking idea what to do. This isn’t in any manual. FBI doesn’t even want to touch this.” He shook his head. “It’s not like there is a number for the local Archangel.” 

Hank ran his hand down his face, while wishing his skin would stop tingling. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end from being so close to an angel- even dead the things were fucking terrifying. “Something killed that angel.”

“Yeah,” Jeffrey said softly. “And that’s what I’m afraid of. I searched the Internet before calling you, and I can’t find an article about a dead angel anywhere. Well, one in Arkansas but it was a elaborate hoax from some cultists.” 

“That figures,” Hank muttered. “Did you call in that fucking angel-touched Reed?” 

“Yeah, but he didn’t answer the three calls, or two texts. I left a voicemail, but he hasn’t called back yet.” 

As much as Reed got on his every nerve, Hank frowned. “That isn’t like him.” 

“I know, I have Officer Chen looking into it.” 

The doors to the morgue slammed open and both men jumped. Hank turned to see Reed standing there, hair standing on ends, wearing stripped boxer shorts and a t-shirt with a tiny cat face print all over it, no shoes. 

“What the fuck-” Hank muttered at the same time Jeffrey asked; “What the hell happened to you, Reed?”

Reed looked at the body on the slab, gagged, put his hands on his knees, and cursed for a solid minute straight. When he stood up, he pushed his hand back through his hair, it did nothing to stop him from looking raving mad. “Okay, okay, that’s a dead angel.” 

“Yeah, no shit,” Hank said. 

“Fuck, fuck!” He breathed in through his nose and out his mouth. “Okay. I need to take the angel.”

“What?”

“The—the angel, the one that saved me, he fucking took me out of my house at like two am and—fuck, fuck, okay, h-he wanted me to get the angel out of here.” 

“And where are you going to take it?” Jeffrey asked. 

Hank didn’t fail to notice that Gavin’s hands were shaking. “I-I need the coroner’s van.” 

Jeffrey threw his arms wide. “Can I even legally give you an angel’s body for transport?”

“Do you want to risk us not following the angel’s orders?” Reed asked. “Because I don’t.” 

“Where are you taking it?” Jeffrey asked once more.

“I don’t know, okay!” Reed’s shoulders went slack, like the adrenaline had finally run out and energy was low. “The angel doesn’t talk, he just shows me pictures. The van, then a road, it’s all fragmented I don’t know if I can put it together, I’m hoping once I’m driving I’ll see enough to remember the fucking flip-book he made my brain into.” 

Jeffrey cursed, but then gave a nod.

What a fucking night. 

—

Over the next three weeks, things returned to normal. Hank could almost forget about the angel in the morgue. Reed remained jumpy, and Hank didn’t think it was because of the increased caffeine intake either. While normalcy had returned, Hank still thought of the angel often. They were believed to be immortal and invulnerable, and the dead angel was calling into question everything he thought he knew about the creatures. 

Hank put aside his questions as he left the precinct for the day. He picked up his son from school, it wasn’t technically his weekend, but Sharron had a co-worker’s wedding to attend, and Hank didn’t mind getting some extra time with his kid. 

Cole buckled up in the back, and shot Hank thumbs up. “What’s for dinner?”

“Hadn’t thought that far ahead yet,” Hank admitted. 

“Man, I’ve been thinking about dinner since lunch. Mom packed a ham sandwich. Ham. Just ham. Boring. And carrot sticks! No ranch dressing either. So lame.” 

Hank shook his head. “Well, what do you want to eat?”

Cole was quiet for a long moment before declaring, “tacos!”

“Tacos it is. We’ll have to stop at the grocery store first.” 

“Cool, can we get popcorn and candy too? Let’s stream a movie! Can we Dad?”

“Sure thing, kiddo.”

Grocery shopping passed quick, even if Cole did throw a few goodies into the shopping cart when he thought Hank wasn’t paying attention. Once home, he gave Cole the task of grating the cheese, even knowing the kid would eat a good quarter of it before the tacos were even done. When dinner was ready, they ate while Hank asked questions about school, and Cole’s friends, and the kid answered in turn. It was entirely normal until Cole said, “Oh, mom’s pregnant.” 

Hank’s eyes widened, and he looked down at his plate to try and hide his reaction. He shouldn’t be surprised. Shannon was several years younger than him, and she’d always wanted more kids. She’d been engaged to Travis for six months, they made a good couple, he didn’t have any kids yet. 

“So, a little brother or sister, huh?” Hank said, once he tucked his own emotions aside. 

“Yeah. Travis thinks it’s going to be a girl, but mom thinks it’s going to be a boy.” 

“And what do you think?” 

“It doesn’t matter,” Cole said with a shrug. “Diapers are gonna stink either way.”

Hank laughed. “Well, I guess that’s one way to look at it.” 

They consciously left the dishes for morning since Cole wanted to stay up for the movie, but Hank didn’t want him up too late. Hank popped some buttery popcorn in the microwave and once it was in a bowl, Cole poured in the bulk M&M’s. 

They sat on the couch with the bowl between them, Sumo snoring loud enough on his doggy bed that Hank had to turn the TV up a little just to hear the dialogue. The movie was a new release, and had decent jokes for a PG title. The rain pelted down outside, just like the forecast had warned. Cole pulled down the blanket on the back of the couch to wrap himself up in as they watched the last quarter of the movie. 

The movie credits started to roll just a few minutes to midnight, and the glow of the television was all the light they had until Hank reached over, and turned on the lamp. Only a few popcorn kernels and a couple blue candies remained in the bowl between him and his son. 

“Looks like it’s bedtime,” Hank said, and looked over to find Cole had already fallen asleep. Hank made up his mind to carry Cole to bed, it wouldn’t be much longer until Cole outgrew such things, but froze on the couch when he heard a horrible crack, and a dull thud out in the back yard. 

Sumo and Cole both startled from their sleep. Sumo much more hilariously, as the dog tried to get up, but his front paws slid on the hardwood, while the back ones on the bed had traction and he mostly just slid forward before finding his feet, and barking. 

Cole hugged his blanket closer. “Dad, what was that?”

Hank stood. “Probably just a tree branch falling in the storm.” 

Sumo’s nails scratched the hardwood as he ran into the kitchen and started to bark at the back door. 

“Sumo, knock it off!” Hank shouted, but the dog didn’t listen. Sumo barked, and barked, and barked. “What the heck has gotten into you!” 

Hank flicked on the light in the kitchen and walked to the sliding glass doors, looking outside as he turned on the yard light. 

“What the fuck,” he whispered as he stared in awe and horror. 

Face-down in his yard, wings spread wide, laid an angel. He watched as the Angel moved, planting it’s hands in the wet earth, trying to push itself up on shaking arms only to face plant once again. 

“Fuck,” he said, and then again with more heat. 

“Dad, that’s two dollars for my college fund,” Cole said. Hank looked over his shoulder, Cole and Sumo stood side by side, Cole wearing his blanket like a cape over his Superman pajamas. Cole’s jaw dropped, as he stared past Hank, out into the yard, and he timidly walked forward. “Is that an angel?”

“That or a big bird,” Hank joked on the edge of hysterics. 

“It’s hurt.” Cole looked up at Hank. “We have to help!”

Hank didn’t want to, he wasn’t even sure he could, but he couldn’t just ignore the way Cole stared up at him with a good dose of hero-worship, and beyond that, it wouldn’t be good if there ended up being a dead angel in his yard. 

“Okay, hold Sumo’s collar, keep him inside, okay?” Hank ordered. Once he saw Cole’s hand wrap around the bright blue collar, Hank opened the door and stepped out into the rain. It had been foolish; barefoot, in only a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, but if the angel died on his property, he didn’t know what would happen, best to not let it get that far. 

The earth was cold, and wet under his feet. The angel didn’t stir as he got close, but Hank could see that it had taken damage to it’s right wing, something had pierced right through it (a gaping hole, around the same size of the chest wound of the angel in the morgue, Hank noted) golden blood staining the white feathers. 

“Shit, fuck, please don’t be dead,” he muttered as he crouched down. He wasn’t sure how to turn the angel over when he had to take the wings into consideration, but there were few options, so he reached with shaking hands, and rolled the angel onto it’s uninjured wing. 

The angel’s face was covered in mud, as was the teal blue and gold draping cloth that made up his ornate shirt, grey shorts were barely visible underneath. 

“Hey, wake up,” Hank said softly, giving the angel a gentle shake, but the angel didn’t stir. 

Hank had a difficult time picking the angel up. While lighter than he looked, Hank had to walk backwards to keep from tripping on it’s wings. He’s worried about causing more damage, considering the way the appendages dragged along the ground, but he didn’t have another option available. Getting the angel through the door was another challenge, but Cole held it open, and kept a tight hold on Sumo. 

“Take Sumo, and stay in your room, Cole,” Hank said. 

“But I want to help!” Cole insisted. “I’ll put Sumo in my room, but I can help.”

Hank let out a frustrated groan as he shifted the weight of the angel, an ache in his lower back. “Just listen!”

“He’s hurt and I want to help!” 

“Fine! Take Sumo in the room, get my phone from the living room.”

“Yeah!” Cole tugged Sumo along. The big lug had followed Cole around since he was in diapers, and didn’t even put up a fight. 

Hank followed them, walking backward. Cole went into his room as he passed. Hank kicked his own bedroom door open further, needing to go in sideways. He accidentally stepped on one of the wings, and the angel let out a wail, trembling in Hank’s arms before becoming a dead weight once more. The sound had sent some primal fear through Hank and despite the chill from his soaked clothes, he was sweating. 

It took some maneuvering, but he managed to lay the angel down on the bed, his uninjured wing bent a little, and splayed over the quilt, the injured wing was off the side of the mattress, dripping that golden blood on the carpet. 

The cop in him thought about taking pictures of the wound as evidence, he thought about calling in for back up, at the very least calling Jeffrey, but after the angel in the morgue, Hank knew his friend didn’t know what to do in this situation anymore than he did. 

Cole stood at the bedroom door, phone in hand. 

“Call Gavin Reed,” Hank said, as he walked past and directly into the bathroom. He needed to stop the bleeding, that made sense. He should clean the wound too? Could angels get infections? Peroxide? He grabbed the first aid kit from under the sink and went through it’s contents, before grabbing a cloth, and wetting it. 

“What’s your phone password?”

“Zero, nine, two, three,” Hank replied. He grabbed a towel as he passed, and walked back into his room. The angel remained still, chest rising and falling fast. Looking at the mud, and the blood, one wet cloth wouldn’t do it. 

“Found it!” Cole said, and Hank heard the dial as the phone went on speaker. 

Gavin picked up on the second ring. “Who died?” 

“No one yet,” Hank replied. “An angel crash landed in my yard.” 

There was a long silence broken by a quiet curse. “I’ll be there soon.” 

Hank nodded at Cole, who hung up the phone. “What can I do?” Cole asked. 

Hank pulled on a pair of sterile gloves, and grabbed the cloth. “Go get one of the big bowls, fill it halfway with water, bring it here.” 

“Okay!” 

With gentle hands, Hank worked the cloth over the feathers closest to the wound, trying to clean it out. He got closer to the wound, and next thing he knew he was pinned to the wall, throat held so tight he couldn’t breathe, molten gold eyes glaring at him. The angel looked around the room, clearly disoriented and confused. 

Hank’s hands wrapped around his wrists, trying to push the angel off, but didn’t have the strength to do so. The angel stared at the first aid kit, his eyes losing that ethereal glow fading into a soft brown, and the grip loosened enough for Hank to gasp for air. 

The angel’s hand slowly released Hank before he stepped back, stumbling before he fell to the floor leaning toward his injured wing as if to protect it. 

Hank leaned his full weight back on the wall, legs a little shaky, heart pounding as he gasped for the air. 

The angel looked vulnerable and defenseless on his knees, bleeding sluggishly, muddy, and weak. As much as Hank has hated angels, it still made him sick to see this one in so much pain.

Cole walked back into the room with a big bowl of water, and wide eyes as he stared at the angel on the floor. Hank swore he was going to have a heart-attack before the night was over. The thought of the angel attacking his son was short lived. The angel remained kneeling, while he looked at Cole, it was apparent he didn’t see the boy as a threat, the angel redirected his attention to the large hole in his wing. 

“I am going to help you, okay?” Hank said, he glanced at Cole before returning his attention to the angel. “We don’t want to hurt you.” 

The angel just stared at Hank, and he walked past the angel to take the bowl from Cole. “Go and stay with Sumo-”

“But Dad-”

“Cole, room, now,” Hank said putting all of his authority into his voice. Cole looked over at the angel one last time before shuffling off to his room. At least he could be relatively sure that his son was safe, or at least as safe as possible with an angel in the room. 

He crouched down with the bowl of water, shivering, although he couldn’t tell if that was from the way the angel was looking at him, or from the cold and the way his clothes clung to his skin. “I need to clean the wound out,” Hank said. “I don’t really know what I’m doing though, a hole that big. Should I call a doctor?” 

The angel continued to stare blankly. 

“Do you understand English?”

The angel blinked, and then collapsed forward, leaving Hank with no choice but to catch him in his arms. “For fuck’s sake.” It took him a good five minutes to lift the angel from their awkward position, and taking the wings into consideration to get him back on the bed. 

A knock at the door made Hank glance back down at the angel, but this time he stayed sleeping. Hank rushed out of the room, glared at Cole who was peeking out of his room. “Inside,” he ordered, and ignored the grumbling as the door clicked shut. He pulled open the door to find Gavin hunched over, huddling in his leather jacket. The man pushed his way inside, and kicked off his shoes. 

“Where?” Gavin asked, getting straight to the point. 

Hank didn’t mind. “This way,” he led the way down the hall and into his own room. 

Gavin let out a startled breath, and took a few steps closer, reaching out only to flinch back when he got close. “It’s not him,” Gavin said with relief. 

“What?”

“It’s not the angel that saved me. Similar, but this one is smaller. Wings are wrong too. Fuck, that’s a big hole. What the fuck could cause that kind of damage to an angel?” He pushed his hand through his wet hair. “I thought these bastards were immortal.” 

“You’re the one who drove a dead angel out to- where?”

“I told you, I don’t fucking know,” Gavin snarled. “I woke up back at home and my memory of that night is fucking trashed.” He touched the side of his face where the angel mark was, a hand print, slightly shimmering gold. 

“Any chance you got a line to that angel of yours, maybe get some help?”

Gavin shook his head. “I have no idea how to… well, I mean he shows up when he wants me to do something… or when I get myself into more trouble than I can manage on my own.” He shrugged. “You could try punching me.” 

Enticing. “No.” 

Gavin gave another shrug. “I don’t know then.” He went to the first aid kit, and pulled on a set of disposable gloves. “We should at least get the mud off,” he said. “Might be easier to just dump him in the bathtub.” 

“We can’t just dump an injured angel in a tub!”

“They’re built like tanks.”

“It has a massive hole in its wing.” 

“So we’re just going to sponge bath him and what, pack some gauze in?”

Gavin did have a point, and with all the mud everywhere, it would take ages to even get the angel remotely clean. 

“Alright, help me with him,” Hank said. If they carried the angel between them, it might be difficult to get through doors, but Hank figured there was less of a chance of him stepping on the angel’s wing again. 

“Sure.” 

Hank took the injured side, and helped the angel to sit up, and lean on him, while Gavin went to the other side and pulled the angel’s arm over his shoulder. “Okay lift on three. One, two-” he paused as the power suddenly went out, plunging them into darkness. “Son of a-” the power returned but there was a figure in the doorway and it startled Hank enough to make him jump, and then freeze in fear. 

Another angel, looking much like the injured one though this one was bigger, broader. He wore a black shirt in the same style as the other angel, but with a silver design woven through. His wings were folded neatly against his back. His eyes glowed, much like the injured angels had earlier, only this angel’s eyes were glowing cobalt. 

Hank’s braincells finally gathered together to figure out that this was the angel that had saved Gavin, and left that hand print on his face. The angel stared directly at Gavin with an intensity that made Hank sweat. They were going to fucking die here. Leave Cole alone, please, leave Cole alone. 

“We’re trying to help,” Gavin said. “He crashed down, his wing has a big hole in it.” 

The glowing cobalt faded to a grey-blue in the same way that molten gold had dimmed to brown on the injured angel. The angel stepped into the room, and Hank’s heart threatened to give out, especially with the way the angel stopped in front of him, but turned to look at Gavin. 

Gavin’s face scrunched up. “Arrow. To the side? Move, I think he wants you to move!” 

Hank released the injured angel and stepped to the side. Gavin’s angel grabbed the injured wing, and straightened it out, the injured angel cried out and flailed until it was released, then fell back into unconsciousness. 

“Dad? What was that? I’m getting scared!” Cole cried out. “No, Sumo!” The dog trotted in and Cole was right behind him. “I didn’t mean to let him out, I-” He paused taking in the sight of the second angel. Hank went right to his son, scooped him up in his arms and held him close. 

“Bath tub?” Gavin said. “Yes? Okay. Big guy agrees we should take uh… the little guy?” Gavin paused and frowned, glanced at Sumo who was sniffing the injured angel’s feet. “Well what am I supposed to call him? Or you for that matter?” Gavin grimaced. “What the fuck was that? Did you just throw every dead language into a blender and dump the confetti directly to my brain- don’t do that!” Gavin winced. “Okay, bath tub, got it, stop sending me every tub you’ve ever seen.” 

Hank stayed out of the way with Cole as Gavin and his angel took the injured one to the bathroom, and gently placed him into the tub. The uninjured one sat on the side as the water started to run. 

“Are you two brothers?” Cole asked. 

Hank hated that his son had drawn the angel’s attention, but kids never seem to fear things the way that adults learn to. After a moment of intense staring, the angel nodded. 

“Can I help?” Cole asked. 

The angel’s face softened with the slightest smile, and then he held out his hands. 

Cole looked to his dad, and Hank looked to Gavin who brushed his thumb along his jaw where the golden mark shimmered. It was hard to remember that this was the powerful creature who’d brought Gavin back from the brink of death. 

Slowly, Hank lowered Cole to the ground and the kid went to the angel, walked willingly into his arms, and those massive wings came around, hiding them from view. 

Cole giggled. “Your feathers tickle.” The wingspan opened and Cole still seem delighted with the wings, chasing after one, reaching out and touching it. 

Hank was terrified, what would happen if Cole grabbed, or was too rough, but the angel didn’t seem to mind, letting the kid touch and pet until finally shaking them and snapping them back to his back as his attention shifted back to his brother. 

“Come on, Cole, let’s get out of the way. You should have been sleeping hours ago.”

“But angels, Dad, there are angels in our bathroom!”

“Yes, and one needs to be taken care of, so you’ve got to stop being a distraction.” 

Cole pouted, and turned mournfully to the big angel. “Goodbye, thanks for letting me see your wings.” 

The angel waved, and Hank led Cole out of the room. 

___

  
Semi-clean after trying to wash up in the kitchen sink, and finally in dry clothes, Hank returned to the bathroom. The taller angel was gone, the injured angel was clean, and Gavin was finishing winding gauze around the large wound. 

“Where did the other one go?” Hank asked, not that he was complaining. 

“Be fucked if I know,” Gavin replied. “He sent me the image of this guy,” he nodded toward the angel. “And this house, so I think it means he’s to stay here. I suppose my angel will be back.”

“Your angel huh?”

Gavin blinked a little sleepily. “Get fucked, Anderson, you know what I mean. If these assholes had names they’d be easier to talk about. The other one, tall and terrifying, that one.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Hank replied with a yawn. “Did your angel say what to do with this one other than him staying here?” 

“I asked if we should move this one to to a bed, but I got the image of the bathtub, and the shower running. I don’t know, maybe water helps them?” Gavin shrugged. “I guess we leave him in the tub.” 

Hank grabbed a fresh towel, folded it just so and put it behind the injured angel’s head so it wasn’t resting on the cold hard tile. 

“Mind if I sleep on the couch,” Gavin asked. “I don’t think I can safely drive home.” 

“No problem, you want a blanket?”

“Nah, I’m fine.” 

With the angel bandaged as well as they could manage, the two went their separate ways in the hall. 

Hank remembered what a fucking disaster his bedroom was only after he’d stepped foot back inside. The sheets were covered in mud, and there was golden blood staining the carpet. He stripped the bed, pulled out a heavy blanket to lay on the still wet mattress, and a blanket not bothering with anything more, he curled up and went to sleep. 

When he woke, the room was full of light. A lot of light. Too much light. A part of him thought that the night before must have been nothing more than a bazaar dream, but his sheets in the hamper were covered in mud, and the brown stain on the carpet shimmered lightly. 

He groaned and looked at the clock on his nightstand but it was blinking 12:00 from the power outage the night before. He cursed and sat up, it felt as though he’d slept for twelve hours when it was more likely that he’d just gotten more than his usual six. 

The carpet felt grimy under his feet. The mud tracked in had dried and it would be a bitch to clean out. He went directly to the bathroom out of habit, needing to take a leak, and found the angel with his head resting on his arm on the ledge of the tub. 

At some point, the angel must have awoken and removed his clothes, they were a wet, muddy pile on the floor next to the tub. Despite the fact that the shower had already been turned off, the angel was still wet. His hair weighted down by the water, a drop fell from his hair and slid over a freckled shoulder. He blinked, and stared. 

Hank cleared his throat. “I need to take a piss.”

The angel continued to stare. 

“Stop looking.” 

The angel closed his eyes. Angels were incredibly powerful, everyone knew that, but this one was naked in his tub with his eyes shut, and it made him seem harmless. Hank took care of business as fast as possible, washed his hands, and when he looked over the angel’s eyes were still shut. 

Hank heard Cole talking, his voice but not able to make out the words, but he remembered that Gavin had crashed on the couch, so he focussed on the angel in front of him. Gavin and Cole could surely figure out breakfast if they were hungry. 

The silence dragged on until the angel spoke which startled Hank. “May I open my eyes, Sir?”

 _Sir?_ Hank damn near choked on his tongue, but the angel waited. “Yeah, sure, open your eyes.” The angel’s eyes were a warm brown when he did so, and he tilted his head back to look up at Hank, the gaze alone made Hank’s heart race. “Do you feel any better?”

“A little,” The angel replied. 

“Can you tell me your name?” Hank asked. 

The angel frowned, and didn’t answer as he looked around the room. He stopped at the brand mark on the bathtub, leaning forward to run his fingers over the engraving. Hank knew it said ' _O’Connor_ ,' a bath tub fitting business that went under a few years earlier. 

“Connor,” the angel said. “Connor,” he said again, slow, like he was testing each syllable on his tongue. “You may call me Connor.” Something told him that ‘Connor’ had a name that was humanly impossible to pronounce but this new name suited him so well, and managed to make him seem more approachable. 

“Connor it is,” Hank said. “Is uh… is there anything you need?” 

“I am hungry. Might you aid me once more, sir?” 

“Yeah, of course,” Hank said. 

Connor stood, unashamed with his nudity. Hank received an eyeful before he looks up at the ceiling. “I’ll-” his voice cracked, and he cleared his throat. “I’ll get you some pants.”

“Your kindness is infinite.” 

“Your speech is goofy,” Hank said before he could bite his tongue. 

The angel nodded. “I will attempt to update my speech patterns to human standards.”

Hank grabbed a towel and passed it to Connor. The angel dried his face first, and Hank did not need to be watching. “I’ll find you some pants,” Hank said as he turned on his heels. 

He took a minute to breathe in his room, even as his life continued to spiral out of his control. He was thankful Gavin was there—even if he’d never admit it. He went through his drawers trying to find something that might fit Connor while trying not to think about his slender hips. Ultimately, a pair of sweatpants with a frayed drawstring would have to do. 

He turned with them in hand only to have Connor standing right behind him. Hank let out an undignified yelp, and jumped a few inches off the ground. “Holy fuck! Connor! Don’t sneak up on people like that!” It was only once the words were out of his mouth that he tensed. Who was he to scold an angel?

“I’m sorry, it was unintentional.” Connor was dry, and had ditched the towel somewhere. 

Hank held out the pants, averting his eyes. “Here, put these on. They won’t be a good fit, but they’ll at least keep you warm until we get your clothes washed.” 

“Thank you,” Connor said. Hank stared at the wall while he heard the clothing rustle. “Oh, these are warm, and very soft.” 

Hank figured it safe and finally looked at Connor. The angel’s injured wing dragged on the ground, unable to flatten itself to his back as the uninjured one did. The sweatpants hung low on his hips, his chest bare safe for the freckles that looked suspiciously like constellations. Connor hugged himself, his wings ruffling, but as soon as that injured wing raised a little, he grimaced, and it went loose again, dragging upon the floor. 

“I’d give you a shirt, but there is nothing to go over your wings.” 

“I’ll be fine, but thank you.” 

“Well, let’s get you some food.” 

“Thank you, sir.” 

“The name is Hank,” Hank said, realizing he’d never actually introduced himself to Connor. 

“Thank you, Hank,” Connor said with a sweet smile. 

It should be illegal to have his name sound so incredible off the angel’s tongue. It sent his brain places it _should not be going._ Hank walked around him, and this time heard the angel following. 

The kitchen was a small scale disaster, but there was a massive stack of pancakes, and halved strawberries. Cole sat at the table, happily eating, while Gavin hit the side of the coffee maker. 

“Leave it before you break it, I’ll make the coffee,” Hank said, but first opened the fridge to see what options there were. “So, what kind of food do you like?” 

The reaction was the same from both Gavin and Cole, both of them snapping to attention and turning to stare at the angel. 

Connor leaned in close, and Hank could feel the heat from the wing brushing against his arm. “You have oranges!” 

Hank plucked one out and held it out for Connor who took it with both hands, as if he’d been offered a great treasure. “Thank you, Hank!” 

“Yeah, yeah, go sit down.” Hank redirected his attention to the coffee maker. Gavin wasn’t the only one in a desperate need of a caffeine fix. 

As he set the coffee maker to brew, he saw Connor turn the chair beside Cole around, and he sat down with his wings resting on the floor, spreading out, and taking up a good portion of the kitchen. 

Cole had frozen in awe, a piece of pancake on his fork that had only made it halfway to his open mouth, syrup dripping back down to his plate. 

The angel took notice, and paused in peeling the orange. He lifted a hand, wiggled his fingers a little. 

Cole grinned. “Are you feeling better?” 

“Much better.” He returned to peeling the orange. “I was in good care.” 

“What is your name? My name is Cole! And that’s my dad, and that’s Gavin!”

“I am… Connor.” Connor split the peeled orange in half, and took one of the wedges to offer Cole. 

Cole shook his head. “They taste funny with maple syrup.” 

As much as Hank wanted to ask the angel what had happened, he wasn’t sure he wanted his son to hear the answer. 

“Your uh, brother,” Gavin said a little nervously, his back to the far counter, arms crossed and clearly defensive. “I think he wants you to stay here.”

“Will he be back?” Connor asked. 

“I-I don’t know.”

Connor took a bite of the orange and let out a little moan. He ate the rest of the wedge quickly, and went on to the next. 

“Do you like pancakes?” Cole asked. 

“I’ve never had pancakes.” 

“Dad! Connor has never had pancakes!”

“I heard,” Hank said. 

“He needs a plate, he has to try them!” 

“Leave him in peace,” Hank said, but did get Connor a plate and utensils. “If you want to give them a try. Gavin cooked so I can’t vouch for them being any good.” 

“Hey!” Gavin said at the same time Cole chimed in with a; “They’re the best!”

There was a loud crack sound, like thunder, and the taller angel walked into the kitchen. “How the fu-” he let the words trail off. 

With the daylight streaming in the windows, Hank noticed that the taller angel’s wings were a very light grey, they shimmered like they’d been sprinkled with silver glitter. He turned to his brother, and Connor paused with the orange wedge in hand. 

“No, not really,” Connor said. 

The taller angel went for Connor’s injured wing, and gently touched around the bandages. Connor cried out and lost grip on the orange. The taller angel’s hands flinched away, and he looked at his brother. 

“I-I had to,” Connor said, trying to fold the injured wing closer like he wanted to protect it. “It was the right thing to do.” 

The taller angel crossed his arms, wings tucked in tight to his back.

“No,” Connor said, to something not spoken. 

“Are you talking with your mind?” Cole asked. 

“He is,” Connor said. “He… can’t speak.” 

“Oh-oh, tell me something,” Cole said turning in his seat, holding onto the back and nearly toppling it over, but the angel’s hand shot out to grab it with inhuman reflexes. 

Gavin tensed and took a step forward. “Don’t-”

But the angel gently touched his finger between Cole’s brows and the boy’s face went lax for a second before he giggled. “That’s Sumo!” With the chair on all four legs once more, the angel tapped Cole’s forehead once more. “Pancakes! Oh yeah!” Cole turned back around and started shoveling food back into his mouth. 

The silence weighed heavy as Cole and Connor ate, and Hank sent Cole outside with Sumo the moment the boy was done. Without the child in the room, he was free to speak. 

“So, what happened to you?” he asked Connor. 

“An arrow pierced my wing,” Connor said. He paused with a blank expression, and then nodded. “I think so.”

Gavin glared at the taller angel. “Share with the rest of the class.” 

Hank immediately couldn’t see, an intricate white arrow in someone’s hand, a dark corridor hazy in the background, his vision of the kitchen returned, and he gave his head a shake.

“Is that the arrow that hit Connor?” Gavin asked. “It blew a hole larger than my fist.” 

“Angelic weapons cause a considerable amount of damage,” Connor explained. “I flew as long as I could, I didn’t see who’d tried to shoot me down, but knew if I stopped-” Connor trailed off. 

“And you fell when you couldn’t fly any more,” Hank said, looking out into his back yard where Cole ran around with Sumo, his rain boots already muddy. 

“I don’t know,” Connor said, an answer unspoken-and unsent to Hank, and perhaps Gavin. “It was dark, and stormy, I couldn’t see well enough and then I was injured and just trying to get away.” 

The taller angel’s wings snapped out pressing against the wall, while the other went out of the kitchen. 

Connor shook his head, his head hung low. “No, I can’t.” 

The wings snapped back to the angel’s back.

Hank saw his own house from slightly above. 

“Stay here?” Connor said, looking from his brother to Hank. “Do you think that wise, brother? Someone tried to kill me.” 

Hank couldn’t see. There was nothingness, dark and—then the kitchen again. He groaned, and rubbed his temples, more disoriented than the pain that Gavin sometimes displayed. 

“Hidden?” Connor said and the other angel nodded. “Well, I suppose it is, but-”

“You should stay,” Hank agreed. “You can’t fly, and who is going to look for you here?” 

Connor frowned. “It could be dangerous.” 

“How long will it take you to heal up?” Hank asked. 

The taller angel’s wings shook, and seemed to sharpen when they settled. He was wearing a haughty expression as he stared at his brother. 

Connor sighed. “I-uh, my healing has been impaired. So, months perhaps.” 

Connor’s eyes went glassy and he stared blankly. “Don’t, she’s still mad at you.” A few more seconds went by. “If you insist.” 

The angel stepped away, there was that horrific cracking sound and he seemed to disappear from sight.

“How-how the fuck does he do that?” Hank asked. 

“We can walk through things, or fly- we move faster than you can see,” Connor said. 

“Well, that’s informative and terrifying,” Gavin muttered. “I need to go, I have work soon.” He nodded his head toward Connor while still looking at Hank. “Good luck with that.”

“Gee, thanks,” Hank muttered. 

“I can leave,” Connor said. “I wouldn’t wish to overstay my welcome, you’ve already done so much for me.” 

“No. It’s safest for you to stay here.” 

And while Hank Anderson held a grudge against angels, he still ended up living with one. 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/DaydreamsGolden) and as per usual, I'm hanging out over at on [ Detroit: New ERA ](https://discord.gg/GqvNzUm) there’s lots of fics, and fanart, and fun, so come join us <3


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